The Hunter
by EGB Fan
Summary: Roland's good nature leads to him being the only Ghostbuster on duty when a call comes from a group of students reporting a monster attack.


Disclaimer: Ghostbusters (c) Columbia Pictures

_Extreme Ghostbusters:_ **The Hunter**

"Thanks for the lift, Roland."

Thanks for the lift. That, Roland thought resignedly, about summed him up. Even as she spoke, Kylie Griffin was freeing a two year old from the car seat in the back of _his_ Mustang. Roland Jackson – young, single and father of zero – had fitted a car seat into his Mustang. In fact, now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure that he had paid for the damn thing with his own private money.

"No problem," Roland smiled benevolently. "Now, have you got your passports?"

Kylie gave him a withering look. "Of course we've got our passports."

"And your tickets? And your travellers' cheques? And stuff to keep the girls entertained on the plane? And - "

"Roland," Eduardo Rivera cut in. He had just draped two holdalls over his shoulders, and was now stretching out his younger daughter's collapsible pushchair. "We got everything we need."

"I won't be bored on the plane," said Conchita, Kylie and Eduardo's older daughter, yawning widely as she spoke. "I'm going to sleep."

The younger sister, Rose, was currently being strapped into the pushchair by her mother, and looked at least half-asleep already. It was getting towards nine o'clock now; they had all got up early for this expedition, Roland included.

"What about sun block?" asked Roland. "Did you pack loads and loads of sun block?"

Kylie gave him yet another withering look. "Roland, come on, I wouldn't take my daughters to Mexico without loads and loads of sun block. I brought enough for you, you know," she added pointedly, looking at Eduardo.

"Sun block's for wimps," he retorted. "And they don't need it either" – he gestured down towards his two yawning daughters; "they've inherited my fantastic sun-resistant Hispanic skin."

"UV rays are still harmful to your skin whether it burns or not," said Kylie.

"Do you have a cell phone?" Roland asked quickly, before an argument could develop. "So you can - "

"Call my aunt if anything happens," Eduardo finished. "Yes, I have."

"And you know where you're catching your plane?"

"Roland!" exclaimed Kylie. "We're not kids. Not all of us, anyway. Don't worry about us, ok? We really have to get moving – we shall see you in two weeks."

She stood on tiptoe and hugged Roland, who then stooped to hug Conchita and tousle Rose's hair (she wasn't in a good position for hugging, and was probably too out of it to notice what he was doing anyway). He thought Eduardo probably wouldn't appreciate a hug. Then – Kylie pushing Rose, and Conchita holding onto Eduardo's hand in some attempt to remain upright – they wandered off in the direction of the airport lobby.

x x x

Roland, secure in the knowledge that he had done his good deed for the day, drove to the firehouse. When he got there Janine and Egon Spengler were just arriving with their seven-year-old twins, John and Eden. Roland said a brief hello, and then wandered up to the rec room. He had expected one or two of the more senior Ghostbusters to be there, with Eduardo and Kylie about to begin a two-week stay with Eduardo's aunt in Mexico, but he found only Garrett Miller.

"Hey," Garrett greeted him pleasantly, turning off the television. He had been channel hopping. "Did you have a fun drive to the airport?"

"Not especially." Roland sat down in the nearest armchair. "I hope they didn't forget anything."

"Come on Roland, you're not their mother. Do Chita and Rose have middle names?"

"Um." Roland, surprised by the question, looked blank. "I don't know. If they do, no one's ever told me what they are."

"What about you? Do you have a middle name?"

"Yes."

Garrett looked faintly surprised. "Do you _all_ have middle names?"

"What, me and my brothers and sisters? No. Mom and Dad gave up on that by the time they got to Ryan." Ryan was the fourth of seven Jackson siblings, and Roland the oldest.

"What is the _point_ of middle names?" Garrett ploughed on. "Most people I talk to seem to hate their middle names. I don't know _anybody's_ middle name. God, I don't even know Jo's middle name," Jo being his wife of just over a year. "That's pretty terrible, isn't it?"

"Garrett," said Roland. "If you don't mind my asking, why all this talk of middle names?"

"Oh, well, I was just wondering whether Jo and I should give Max a middle name."

Max Sanford, approximately a month and a half into his second year of life, was the little boy that Garrett and Jo were tantalisingly close to adopting. He was already living in their house; essentially all that was required now were a few signatures. Only the previous month Max had been taken away from his mother and the man who was probably his father, but might not have been. Max's mother sometimes used her body to feed her drug habit when she was short of cash; and when she and her lover thought they were in danger of being discovered by the police, they would hide their stash of drugs inside their son. Anyone who heard the story had been pretty appalled that these people had had a child in their care for two whole years.

"We can change his name, when we finalise the adoption, if we want to," Garrett explained. "I mean obviously he'll still be Max – it'd be too confusing for all of us if we changed _that_ – but Jo and I agree we could do something a bit more interesting than just substituting Sanford with Miller. Like we _could_ give him a middle name, and I quite like the idea of lengthening Max to Maxwell. It'd sound pretty cool when we were mad at him, y'know? Like, MAXWELL!"

"He's not Maxwell at the moment?"

"No, just Max."

"So how's he settling in at home?"

"Good," said Garrett. "Really good. I mean, I don't think he's the brightest daffodil in the bunch – he seems to have no idea what's going on most of the time, to be honest with you – but he seems really happy. And he's _definitely_ going to be athletic. He's always running around, and he can't pronounce 'ball' yet but he can catch them every time."

Roland smiled. "Everything you ever wanted in a son, huh?"

"Yeah," said Garrett. "Y'know, it's weird how much you love them. I've been here five minutes and I'm missing him already."

It was obvious that Garrett enjoyed talking about Max as much as most parents enjoyed talking about their children, and Roland didn't mind listening. In fact he rather enjoyed hearing about the kid's progress. Max was pretty cute; he wasn't talking much yet (though he had learnt several new words in his month with Garrett and Jo), but he had a charming smile and truly amazing electric-blue eyes. No one worried too much about Max not showing any signs of intelligence just yet; however stupid he turned out to be, he could almost certainly get through life on being cute.

Garrett's cell phone began to ring. "It's Jo," he said, as he pulled it out of his pocket. "I'd better take it."

Roland, not wanting to eavesdrop, picked up the TV guide on the coffee table and started flicking through it. He was quietly thinking about possible middle names for Max. Kendall seemed a sensible choice, as it was Jo's maiden name. But, knowing Joanna, she might think it a tad ostentatious.

"Everything all right?" asked Roland, when Garrett had hung up. He had heard the phrase "chill out" mentioned once or twice.

"Ach." Garrett pulled a face. "Apparently Max has run into the corner of the coffee table and made a hole in his head."

Roland winced. "Ouch. Is he all right?"

"Probably. That kid is _always_ bumping into things – it's insane! It doesn't seem to bother him much, though. I've tried teaching him to look where he's going, but he just doesn't seem to see what's straight in front of him. I don't really know what else we can do, short of putting bubble wrap on everything, but I don't want to wrap him in cotton wool. That's how you turn a kid into a complete wuss."

Roland cocked an eyebrow. "Well, we wouldn't want that."

"It means," Garrett went on, "that he's got a few bruises. I mean, it's nothing drastic, but now he's apparently got this hole in his head, and Jo's in a bit of state about it because we've got a social worker visiting this afternoon. I mean, we don't want to be accused to beating him up, do we?"

"No," said Roland. He knew that, before the adoption was finalised, there was still an outside chance Max could be taken away from them. "But I'm sure the social worker will understand. Little kids bump into things all the time."

"I guess." He didn't sound convinced. "Look, I think I'd better go home. I want to see this hole in Max's head, and Jo sounded pretty flustered, and we ought to try and clean him up before the social worker's visit this afternoon."

"Um, of course," said Roland. "You're going now?"

"Yes."

"So if we get a call, I'll be the only one here."

"We won't get a call, Roland. It's nine thirty on Saturday – no one else is up yet. And anyway, Egon's around here somewhere."

Even if this was correct, Garrett seemed to overlook the fact that time was constantly moving forwards. He was absent, of course, when the first call came through at exactly five to ten.

"Garrett should _be_ here," grumbled Janine, when she had finished giving the particulars to Roland. "Egon won't even dock his pay – he's too soft."

"Well," said Roland, "his wife and child needed him."

"They didn't. He told me what happened. So Max ran into the coffee table – big deal. You know as well as I do that Max doesn't care when he bumps into things. He's probably absolutely fine, same as he was the last time. And anyway, Jo's there, and I find it hard to believe that a capable woman like her would freak out about a kid getting a little cut on his head."

"So… have you called anyone else?"

"Yes," Janine sighed heavily. "Winston's sick. Ray has to stay home and open the door for the washing machine repairman. Isn't the one of the stupidest excuses you've ever heard? And when I called Dr. Venkman's cell phone just now, he told me he's halfway to Memphis."

Roland blinked. "But he just got _back_ from Memphis."

"I know!" exclaimed Janine. "But he's run off there again because Oscar's got some sort of problem." Oscar, Peter Venkman's stepson, had recently taken up temporary residence in Memphis with three friends in pursuit of rock stardom. "I mean, Oscar's eighteen – he's going to have to learn to get by without his dad. Peter told me that none of the other kids' parents would go, and Dana _can't_ go because she has to work. I told him, Roland – I said, 'So do you have to work!'"

"Right," said Roland, quietly wondering what Oscar's problem was. He had a special interest in Oscar, as his youngest sister spent a lot of time in her room pining for him these days. "So I guess that leaves Egon."

"Ah, well…" Janine suddenly looked extremely sheepish.

"Tell me he's here."

"Well, actually, he's taken the twins to the dentist."

"The _dentist_?"

"They have to go to the dentist, Roland," Janine said defensively. "My mother was supposed to take them, but now apparently she has to stay with my sister because she's upset about something, so Egon took them because he thought Winston was coming in, but then Winston called in sick and… and…" – she tailed off.

"So it's just you and me here?" asked Roland. "Janine, that's insane!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. It's not my fault, but I'm sorry anyway."

"Well I can't go to a call on my own – that'd just be asking for trouble."

"Look, the thing that the call was about apparently isn't there anymore," Janine said reasonably. "All you have to do is go to this apartment and get what information you can, and then come straight back here instead of trying to find it. Egon should be back by then, and maybe the washing machine repairman will have been as well."

"Can't someone _else_ let the washing machine repairman in?" asked Roland.

"Apparently not."

"Well, Janine, this is pretty appalling, really. While the Ghostbusters are out dealing with their kids and their household appliances, people could get killed."

Janine sighed. "I know, I know. It _is_ terrible – this has never happened before. We're usually much more organised than this."

Roland nodded. "I know. I guess that's what comes of having kids."

"Well, kids _do_ have to come first."

"Of course," Roland said tightly. "I'll just go to this call by myself, then. Where am I going?"

x x x

Interestingly the call had come from a small apartment block quite close to the New York City Community College, where Roland had met his fellow Ghostbusters – Egon included, and Janine – some nine years earlier. The apartments were inexpensive, and therefore popular with students, several of whom were apparently moving in already in preparation for the approaching autumn semester.

Roland parked the Ecto-1 as close to the apartment block as he could, and stepped out of the car. The only sign of any monster was a section of the roof that appeared to be missing from the building. Roland waited expectantly for a few seconds. Janine had told him that he would be met by a student named Jacqueline Ibbetson.

"Hi!" Sure enough, Roland found himself accosted by a flustered looking young woman with dimples, sweet blond hair and a shoulder bag. "You're a Ghostbuster, aren't you? Of course you are, sorry, stupid question. I'm sorry – I didn't get a very good look at it. But it was big. _Really_ big. And it was flying. That's why I didn't get a very long look at it – it was flying away. It had a long tail, though. Its, um, hindquarters looked like those of a lion. Only bigger. _Way_ bigger."

Roland raised his eyebrows. "A lion? Really? That could be a griffin." He hadn't had to do any special research to know about griffins. He suspected that they weren't the only supernatural creatures with lion bodies, but the griffin was the only one he knew of just now "Did you get a look at its head?"

"No, but there are some guys who can help you – they got a much better look at it than I did. Actually I think one of them's hurt. He was lying on the ground, and I think there was some blood, but I'm not sure. Come on – follow me."

Suddenly she sprinted off in the direction she had just come from, and Roland quickly followed her. His PKE meter was getting increasingly excited as they ran, which was encouraging, but Roland was distracted with worrying about the person who was lying on the ground and may or may not have been bleeding.

Jacqueline led him into the heart of the apartment building, and skidded to a halt in a small courtyard. There were a few people hanging around, and at the centre of the small gathering seemed to be three youths of about eighteen or nineteen. Two of them – a boy in regulation jeans and t-shirt and a girl in shorts and a tank top – were looking even more spooked than most of the rest of the crowd.

The third was a young man in ripped jeans. He had curly dark hair that fell over his face, almost but not quite hiding some nasty looking scratches. He also had several large cuts on his arms and hands, which he was using to dust himself off. He wasn't lying on the ground, but he looked to have been doing so quite recently. Still, it didn't seem to bother him. Roland was reminded of Max. Perhaps this kid was also used to bumps and bruises, and apparently very unpleasant looking cuts as well.

"It's him," said Jacqueline, pointing, just to make things absolutely clear. "He's the one that got attacked."

"Excuse me, sir." Roland approached the curly-haired youth, who looked up in surprise. "This young lady tells me you were attacked by a supernatural being of some kind."

The young man looked up in surprise. "Who are you?" he asked. He spoke with a thick southern accent. The poor kid must be far from home.

"My name's Roland Jackson. I'm a Ghostbuster."

"Ghostbuster? Jesus! Yeah, well, I've heard of you. Look… Roland… you didn't need to come all the way out here. I'm fine."

"Well… what's your name?"

"Mark."

"Well Mark, those are some nasty cuts you've got there. Can you tell me what it was that attacked you?"

"Um, sure." Mark was looking slightly uncomfortable. Understandable, Roland thought, under the circumstances. "It was a griffin."

Roland raised his eyebrows. Never before had he received such a definite answer. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Sure I'm sure. Everyone knows what a griffin is. Body of a lion, maybe seven or eight times bigger, and the head and the wings of an eagle. That's what it was."

"Excuse me," said the girl who had been standing nearby when Roland arrived. "I saw it too – that's _exactly_ what it was."

"It ripped the roof off our bedroom," the lad who was with her cut in; "and then it picked up Mark and dumped him out here. Then it tried to kill him."

"But I'm ok," said Mark. "This is my roommate Dan and his girlfriend Laura."

"Hi," Dan and Laura both smiled weakly.

"Why would a griffin _do_ that?" wondered Roland.

"Well," said Mark, "I read they're carnivorous."

"But you're still alive. Why didn't it…?"

"Eat me?"

"Well, yes," said Roland. "Or at least kill you. Why did it leave?"

"Well," Mark shrugged dismissively. "There were people running around screaming and stuff – she probably got a bit freaked out."

"It was female?"

"I'm pretty sure she was, yes."

"How could you tell?"

Mark gave him a withering look. He'd had a lot of those that day.

"Um, Mark, listen," Roland went on. "You've got some really nasty injuries there. I want you to come back to Ghostbusters HQ with me so my boss can look you over."

"Oh, there's no need," said Mark. "I'm fine, really. My jeans got the worst of it."

Roland glanced down at the ripped pair of baggy blue jeans. For some reason, he had assumed Mark did that to them deliberately.

"And it's not like a werewolf or something – griffin scratches don't _do_ anything to you," said Mark. Then he added, with the same degree of confidence, "Do they?"

"I don't think so," said Roland. "But even so…"

"Those are some nasty cuts, Mark," Laura ventured timidly.

"Hey, come on – my cat scratches me all the time back home," Mark said breezily. "This was just the same… only bigger."

"Your cat doesn't try to peck your eyes out, does it?" asked Dan.

Mark raised a hand to a nasty gash on his left temple. "No," he confessed.

"I want to check out your apartment," said Roland. "Will you take me up there?"

"Sure."

"And then will you _please_ come with me to see my boss?"

Mark sighed resignedly. "Sure, ok."

Roland ran his PKE meter over Mark as they ascended the stairs, and then began moving it over the entire apartment once they were inside, starting with the kitchen and ending with the small twin bedroom. The only signs of struggle were in this bedroom, where a few small items of furniture were upturned. All of the bedclothes, with the exception of one pillow on one of the two beds, were on the floor. But the only real damage seemed to be to the now partially absent roof.

"These are some _very_ strong readings," Roland remarked.

"Yeah, well, she ripped the roof off," Mark pointed out. "What is that thing anyway? Like a ghost detector?"

"Kind of. It tells me if there is or was a ghost in the area."

"Does it tell you what kind?"

"It gives me an idea what kind, yes. You can certainly narrow it down to a particular category from these readings."

"So." Mark sidled up next to Roland, and looked at the PKE meter. "That's what it looks like when there was a griffin in the area, huh?"

"Apparently so," Roland said, with forced patience.

"Could you follow it from here?"

"Probably. I shouldn't really go after it, being on my own, but…" – he let out a deep sigh. "It could kill somebody."

"You shouldn't go after a griffin on your own," Mark said sagely. "And anyway, you have to take me to see your boss, don't you?"

Roland nodded. "I certainly do."

"I really _am_ all right, you know."

"Well, let's just see what my boss has to say, shall we?"

x x x

"Did a griffin _really_ do this to you?" asked Egon, as he ran a disinfectant-soaked cotton ball roughly over Mark's bloody arms.

"Yes," said Mark, cutting a glance at Roland.

"You're lucky to be alive."

"I know. Like I say, there was a lot of noise, and I think a few people were chucking stuff at it. Griffins are supposed to like their peace and quiet, aren't they?"

Egon cocked an eyebrow. "You seem very knowledgeable about griffins."

Mark shrugged. "Yeah, well, I always liked the idea that there was more to this world than meets the eye."

"Even now?" asked Roland.

"Well." Mark glanced down at his now slightly less mutilated arms as Egon withdrew. "I guess griffins gotta eat."

"How big was this griffin?" asked Egon.

"A hell of a lot bigger than a regular lion," said Mark, hopping down from the table he had been sitting on. "Not quite ten times bigger, but pretty damn near."

"That sounds like a full-grown adult griffin to me. What would it be doing in New York, I wonder? As Mark points out, they enjoy their privacy. I find it hard to believe that a griffin would come to a place like this without good reason."

"Hey, it's just what I read," said Mark, holding up his hands. "I mean, maybe the books are wrong. Who really knows _that_ much about griffins? I mean, come on – even scientists sometimes get it wrong about stuff they see every day."

Egon frowned slightly.

"Y'know," Mark went on, "I don't really know my around here yet. At _all_. Were you planning on giving me a lift back to my apartment?"

Egon looked down at Mark's arms, and the shiny red map stretching across his fair skin. "Don't you want a dressing on those?" he asked.

"No thanks, it's fine," Mark said graciously. "Chicks dig scars, right?"

"I don't know," said Egon, "but we shall certainly give you a lift home, because Roland and I need to go there as well to start tracking this griffin. If it really _was_ hungry, it might still be hunting."

They met Garrett in the lobby, just as they were about to get into the Ecto-1.

"Ah, Garrett, good," Egon said blankly. "This is Mark Hunt – he was attacked by a griffin this morning. We're about to go and track it down."

"We're going to try, anyway," Roland added quietly, knowing that the griffin could be anywhere by now.

"That looks like some nasty griffin attack," remarked Garrett, once they were all seated in the Ecto-1 with Egon driving, and they had been moving for some time.

"Yeah, well," shrugged Mark. "It could have been a lot worse. Hey, do I… owe you guys any money?"

"No," said Egon. "Not until we catch the creature, which obviously we haven't done yet due to so many of us being absent from work this morning."

"Speaking of which," said Roland, his voice sounding just a little bit tight, "we can't let that happen again. Presumably, Egon, the twins won't be going to the dentist again for another six months. So what about you, Garrett? You got any more social workers coming to visit you?"

"No, the same one," said Garrett. "On Friday. And _obviously_ I've arranged cover. Well, I got Janine to arrange cover. Because I know it's going to happen and I'll need to be there. This morning was an emergency. Emergencies happen."

"So how's Max?" asked Roland, wondering just how Garrett defined "emergency".

"Oh, well… we put a dressing on his head so it doesn't look _too_ bad, and he seems fine now. This'll sound terrible, but I kinda hope he'll bump into a few things while the social worker's there, so she'll realise it's entirely his fault that he's so beat up."

"She hasn't been yet?"

"Nah – she's coming this afternoon. It looks better if Jo and I aren't both home and appear to have no income. Wow, that's some hole in the roof!"

They had arrived back at the apartment block, where Dan and Laura were both waiting for Mark outside. They approached the small party, still looking a little spooked by the whole thing.

"Guys, listen," Roland addressed Mark and Dan. "We want to go up to your room again. May we?"

Dan shrugged. "Sure."

The elevator was working, but made a very unnerving noise whenever anyone moved in it, so Garrett decided to stay outside and question a few witnesses. It would be extremely helpful, he reasoned, if somebody could tell them in which direction the griffin had fled. Egon and Roland, meanwhile, trudged up to the Dan and Mark's bedroom, and Egon's PKE meter drew him immediately to the desk.

"Fascinating," he deadpanned, as he picked up a sharp, bone-like object approximately the size of a large bullet.

"What's that?" asked Roland.

"I think," said Egon, "the griffin might have left a claw behind."

"Whoa! Really? How did I miss _that_?"

"Don't worry about it, Roland. You were on your own this morning – you were probably under a lot of pressure."

Roland nodded. "I was."

"It's odd that the residual traces here are so strong. That griffin can only have stayed a few seconds, judging from Mark's story."

"Yes, I thought of that."

"It's strongest over here by this bed. Hmm… looks like one of those extra storage affairs, don't you think?"

"Looks like it," agreed Roland, prodding the bed experimentally.

"Good, lift it up."

"Egon! He might have something private in there!"

"If he has we'll just pretend we haven't seen it. Lift it up, please."

Reluctantly, Roland obliged. Both his and Egon's PKE meters become immediately more excited, even though there was nothing there but a creased old blanket. Egon lifted the blanket out, sniffed it and then ran his eye over it appraisingly.

"It smells faintly of cat," he remarked.

"Mark said he had a cat at home," said Roland. "Perhaps he brought…"

"The cat's blanket?"

"A blanket the cat happens to have sat on a few times."

"Perhaps," mused Egon. "Or perhaps there's more to this than meets the eye. Well, I don't think we can get any more from here today. Presumably there will be some labourers attending to this roof before the day is out – we might ask them to keep their eyes open."

They were in luck. Some emergency builders had been called out, and arrived with the intention of charging Mark and Dan to the back teeth for their trouble. Egon went and talked to the builder who looked most in charge, specifically the only one with a blue as opposed to a yellow hard hat. Mark and Dan didn't seem to be around. Roland was faintly perturbed, as he had wanted to talk to them again; but he quickly caught sight of Laura, who was talking to Garrett.

"It flew off in that direction," she was saying, whilst pointing vaguely southeast, "and it kept flying until it just sort of… disappeared over the horizon. You know what I mean? It looked like it went a _long_ way – it's really fast, y'know? I don't think you could catch up with it now."

"Well," said Garrett, "I think we ought to try."

As it transpired, however, Laura was absolutely right. It might have been slightly easier if the griffin had walked away, but of course it had used the sky, which made it impossible to follow.

"What do we do now?" demanded Roland once he, Egon and Garrett were sitting in the stationary Ecto-1. "We won't hear about it again until somebody else gets hurt. Or killed."

"Maybe that won't happen," Garrett said brightly. "Maybe it went home."

"And where's that?" Roland asked dubiously.

"Now let's not bicker," said Egon. "Perhaps I can do something with this claw."

"Like what?" asked Garrett.

"I don't know. I doubt that the griffin wants it back, but it's the only link we have. In the meantime we need to try to read everything that's ever been written about griffins and attempt to ascertain why it's here, what it wants and where it might have gone. It's a shame Kylie isn't here – she'd be halfway through that particular task by now."

"What about lunch?" demanded Garrett. "It's almost two and I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Neither have I," said Roland.

"Nor I," Egon confessed. "All right, we'll have lunch. And then we get to work."

x x x

They went back to the firehouse for lunch, after which Egon told Garrett and Roland to go straight back to the apartment.

"I'm beginning to regret not taking that blanket," he said.

"What, the kitty blanket?" asked Roland.

"Indeed. Please go and ask Mark if we might have it."

Garrett and Roland made their way obediently down to the Ecto-1, and the latter began the by now only too familiar drive to the apartment block.

"Kinda reminds me of the old days," Garrett said blithely. "Y'know, when you and me used to go off and do something dull while Ky and Eddie saved each other from falling off buildings and stuff."

"I remember," Roland deadpanned.

"It's too bad Kylie's not here – she'd have liked to see a griffin. Assuming we'll ever _get_ to see it, that is. I wonder what she and Eddie are doing now."

"Something a lot more interesting than picking up old blankets from college students, I'll bet." Roland sighed. "It must be nice to be interesting."

"Come on, Roland, you're interesting," Garrett said encouragingly.

"Ha! No I'm not. I've never done one interesting thing in my whole life."

"Aw, sure you have. You, um… you… you got hypnotised by Syren and let some ghosts out of the containment unit in the process of freeing Banshee, who subsequently almost killed everybody. That was pretty interesting."

"Huh. I didn't do that. Syren did that _to_ me."

"Roland, stop putting yourself down," scolded Garrett. "The team'd fall apart without you – _you_ know that."

"Yeah." Roland's expression darkened slightly. "I know. Anyway, here were are."

"Oh yeah," grinned Garrett, pushing open the rear doors and lowering the handy wheelchair ramp Roland had installed some years earlier. Good old Roland. "You go get this kitty blanket and I'll, um…"

"Actually," said Roland, who, now out of the car, was frowning at his PKE meter, "you might want to check out what's going on this parking lot. I'm getting some faint PKE traces."

"Probably from when the griffin was here," Garrett said dismissively.

"Probably," said Roland. "And it may lead us to some sort of clue as to what the hell we can possibly do to find it. Now get moving. Please," he added, forcing a smile.

"Ok, don't get your electronic file-o-fax in a knot," returned Garrett. "I'm on it."

In silence, Roland left Garrett to it and made his way towards the apartment block. As he walked, he wondered if this really _was_ the least interesting job he had ever had to do. He thought back over his career as a Ghostbuster, and came to the conclusion that his most uninteresting hour thus far had been his main contribution to the Tenebrach/Orb of Moldova case, when he'd had to locate a list of items that had gone through airport customs that day. But this, he thought, definitely had that beat in the boring stakes.

Roland was slightly fazed when he heard squeals and giggles and even a laughable attempt at an animalistic roar coming from behind the door to Mark's bedroom. Then he heard something that sounded like, "Dan! Stop it!" followed by squeals of laughter that pretty much nullified the words. Ok, so she was being tickled – or at least that was how it sounded to Roland. He could interrupt that, couldn't he?

Laura responded to his timid knock. She was wearing an oversized white shirt, tousled hair, a little extra colour in her face and not much else.

"Oh, it's you," said Laura. "What's up? We haven't seen the griffin again."

"Actually," Roland said awkwardly, "I was just wondering if I could… have something of Mark's."

"What's that?" asked Laura.

"A blanket."

"Why?"

"Dude," came a voice from within, presumably belonging to Dan. "Just come in and get it, ok?"

Roland ventured timidly into the room. Dan was lying back on one of the beds, topless but thankfully still wearing his jeans. The other bed was, equally thankfully, empty. Roland lifted the top from it and pulled out the very large blanket, which turned out to be a rather nice shade of crimson when the light touched it.

"Do you know where Mark is?" asked Roland.

"No," Dan and Laura said together, the latter adding, "Sorry."

"Don't sweat it," said Roland. "Thank you for your, um, cooperation."

He left the room, and Laura shut the door behind him. Moments after she did this, the cringe worthy noises from within started up again. "C'mere, baby. Rarrrr!" and such. Flinching, Roland made his way quickly down the stairs.

x x x

"Hey, Roland!" Garrett was waving to him from an empty parking space. "It's still pretty faint, but the signal is definitely strongest in this spot. There was something here in the last, like, hour or so. You'd think somebody would have noticed, wouldn't you? Maybe one of these guys has an evil car."

"That's odd," remarked Roland.

"So what do we do now?" asked Garrett.

"I don't know," Roland said stiffly. "Why do _I _always have to come up with the plan?"

"Um… because you're the smart one?"

"You're not stupid, Garrett. _You _think of a plan."

"Ok, here's my plan," retorted Garrett. "We'll go back to the firehouse, give Egon his blanket and tell him what we found."

"And what's that?" Roland asked dubiously, beginning to make his way towards the Ecto-1. "A few residual PKE traces in a parking lot."

"Oh, don't be a wet blanket. What's with you?"

"Nothing."

When Roland climbed into the driver's seat, the radio was crackling and Egon's voice spluttering through: "Come on, how long does it take to collect a blanket? Somebody please respond."

"Egon, hi," said Roland, picking up the two-way radio just as Garrett was rolling into the back of the car. "What's up?"

"Well," said Egon, "I've been analysing this claw. It's a griffin claw all right, but I'm not convinced it's from the one that attacked Mark this morning."

"Why not?" asked Roland.

"Besides the fact that the PKE coordinates aren't an exact match – close, mind you, but not exact – this claw seems to have been detached from its owner for several days. Perhaps weeks. I can't be _very_ accurate, but I don't think it was lost this morning."

Garrett shook his head. "That makes absolutely no sense."

"Well," said Egon, "obviously we're going to have to _make_ sense of it. Slimer, what are you…? Oh. Thank you. Listen, you two: Slimer has just brought me a Post-it from Janine. There's been another griffin incident not far from - "

"I see it!" exclaimed Garrett, pointing out of the rear window. Roland turned, and sure enough a colossal winged creature was swooping and soaring some distance from where they were, possibly a mile or so.

"I see it too," said Roland. "We're on it, Egon. Over and out."

"That griffin looks pissed about something," remarked Garrett, watching it as Roland began to drive quickly towards it.

"It looks," said Roland, "like it's attacking. See how it swoops down like an eagle but at the same time positions its body like a pouncing lion? That's amazing."

"Yeah," said Garrett, "but the poor sucker being attacked is probably too distracted to appreciate the finer points of its technique. We'd better get there fast."

x x x

The griffin really was about eight times the size of a full-grown lion, with a cry as loud as its wingspan was wide. Keeping track of it as they drove wasn't too difficult at all. Within fifteen minutes of setting off, the Ecto-1 was screeching to a halt outside a large detached house with a heavily padlocked basement hatch, the odd roof tile missing and no glass in the windows. Either the place was derelict, or the griffin had _really_ wanted to get to the unfortunate people inside. Besides the house, there was nothing of any substance nearby except for a battered old Ford.

And not forgetting the griffin, of course.

The great animal was silhouetted against the sun in a beautiful cliché as Roland and Garrett tumbled out of the car. They stared upwards in awe as the great beast spread its wings, bowed its head and poised its bulky yet graceful body for the attack. Just for a moment, the sight was mesmerising, and the two Ghostbusters were torn between staring in amazement and turning their eyes away from the rays of sunlight that surrounded the griffin like a halo.

Then suddenly the monster's firm stature seemed to fold in on itself like a house of cards; it opened its hooked beak, screamed and then fell heavily to the ground.

"What the…?" exclaimed Garrett, as the creature's great bulk fell towards the earth.

The griffin hit the ground with a sickening crunch and then just lay there, its eyes closed and its face contorted with pain. Some kind of weapon was protruding from its exposed flank, but Garrett and Roland didn't really notice it. They both looked around for the griffin's attacker, who soon enough emerged from behind the creature's huge, limp form.

"Mark!" exclaimed Roland, running over to join him. "Jeez, are you ok?"

Mark looked even more surprised than they were. "What are _you_ doing here?" he demanded.

"Saving your ass," said Garrett, as Roland grabbed Mark's wrists and ran his eyes over his scarred arms.

"What is it with you and this griffin?" he asked. "Are any of these fresh?"

"I don't know, maybe." Mark wrenched his red-patterned arms away. "Look, you guys didn't have to come here. I had it under control."

"So I see." Garrett cocked an eye at the large weapon protruding from the griffin's side. "Is that a harpoon?"

Mark sighed resignedly. "Yeah. That's a harpoon."

"You harpoon these things often?"

"No. Only sometimes. Ok, look." Mark wandered over to the nearby Ford, opened the rear door and pulled out a small stepladder. "I live kinda near the Guadalupe Mountains. And just sometimes, back home… we'd get a little griffin problem. And you had to learn how to deal with it."

Roland raised his eyebrows. "Griffins live in the Rockies?" he asked dubiously.

"Hardly any," said Mark. He was positioning his stepladder next to the griffin's slowly rising and falling flank. "It's happened, like… once in my life."

"You were lucky to take out that one," remarked Garrett.

"Yeah, well," shrugged Mark. "It was her or me, y'know?"

"You know," said Roland, watching flinchingly as Mark balanced expertly on the stepladder and reached for his harpoon; "she's still al- "

As Mark wrenched the weapon free with two white-knuckled fists, the griffin reared her great feathered head and screamed. Roland was convinced that Mark was going to fall off the stepladder and break his neck, but apparently he was prepared for this turn of events. He steadied himself on the ladder and then backed down it slowly (further convincing Roland that he was going to fall and really hurt himself), always holding his harpoon defensively in front of him.

The griffin got tentatively to her feet, really showing Garrett and Roland her extraordinary size now. She stalked her way around Mark, limping slightly, and then suddenly looked away from him and towards the house. Mark lifted the harpoon and took a few tentative steps towards her. He looked about to strike, when Roland distracted him with a yell of, "Mark! Close your eyes!" A flash of blinding light followed, and the griffin was gone.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Mark, just managing to stop himself from harpooning thin air. "What did you _do_?"

"I trapped it," said Roland, stooping to retrieve a smoking ghost trap.

"I was about to kill her."

Roland frowned slightly. "I know."

"And what would you have done with the body?" asked Garrett. "That's a big kitty to bury in your backyard. Trust me, it's easier this way."

Mark looked slightly perturbed, and mildly interested at the same time. "Can you _do_ that?" he asked. "Well, you can, obviously, but… she wasn't a ghost. She was a real living, breathing animal."

Roland shook his head. "Griffins aren't real in the same sense that lions and tigers and bears are real. She's ecto-based, so we were able to trap her."

"What are you going to… _do_ with her?"

"We're going to put her in a secure storage facility," said Garrett.

"Can you get her out again?"

"Why would we want to do that?"

"I don't know," Mark smirked slightly. "The zoo would probably pay a lot of money for her."

"Ah, yes," said Garrett. "Speaking of which…"

"Money, right," said Mark. "Y'know, I never actually _called_ you guys. I don't even know who did."

"Yeah? Well, we just saved your life if you hadn't noticed."

"I was handling it, _in case you hadn't noticed_, but I'm not going to argue. I'll pay. But I'm afraid I don't have any cash on me."

"It's ok," said Roland. "We'll get our secretary to invoice you."

"Great," Mark said dryly. "So are you guys leaving now? You're done with this?"

"Yes," said Garrett, "unless there are any more griffins."

"There shouldn't be," said Roland. "But then of course, there was no explanation for this one being here. And she really seemed interested in _you_, Mark. You don't suppose she followed you all the way from the Rockies?"

"Why would she do that?"

"No reason at all, that I can think of. We'll have to talk to our boss about it."

"Are you sure you weren't expecting it?" Garrett asked shrewdly. "You sure as hell came prepared."

Mark looked from the harpoon in his hands down to the stepladder. "I guess old habits die hard."

Roland turned away from him, muttering, "Right."

"There you go, Roland," Garrett said bracingly, as they made their way back to the Ecto-1. "That was pretty interesting."

x x x

"I can think of no logical reason why a griffin would knowingly come to New York City," was Egon's firm conclusion. "Unless it was after something."

"Like Mark?" suggested Garrett.

Egon nodded. "Quite possibly. Look at this." He held out the blanket that Roland had pilfered from Mark's room, which he had been nursing during the few minutes since it was given to him. "See those cat hairs? I don't think they're from his pet." He picked up a PKE meter from his desk and switched it on. "Confirmed."

"Now that," said Garrett, "is suspicious."

"Based on what you've told me," Egon went on, "I would deduce that he hunts these creatures fairly regularly. It isn't unusual, according to the legends. As to the claw, perhaps it's some kind of trophy."

"Like mounting an animal's head on the wall." Roland was frowning deeply. "That's pretty disgusting."

"Oh, his car!" exclaimed Garrett, slapping himself on the forehead in self-rebuke. "He had all his griffin hunting equipment in there. Presumably. I'll bet he'd been in the parking spot that gave us those readings – he's probably got a whole load of griffin balls in the trunk or something."

"Well," said Egon, "I see no sense in worrying about him further. We could try to find out exactly why the griffin was after him, but why worry about that now? It's unlikely that another will follow. All that remains now is to put this one away."

Roland was hugging the trap tightly to his chest.

"Roland," said Egon. "May I have the trap?"

"Um… Egon…" Roland ventured timidly. "I don't want to put her in the containment unit."

Egon said nothing. He simply raised his eyebrows.

"Well," Roland went on. "She's hurt, and she's a long way from home, and… and… we don't know she's dangerous to anyone who doesn't want to kill her."

"So what do you want to do with it?" demanded Garrett. "Take it home to the Rockies?"

"I don't know, maybe…" mumbled Roland.

"Roland! Hello! It's a griffin. Griffins are dangerous. Griffins _eat_ people." He looked at Egon. "Don't they?"

"According to the legends," said Egon.

"Egon, please," begged Roland. "Let's not put her in the containment unit just yet. I think there's more to this."

"Why do you think that?" Egon asked reasonably.

"Because it seems logical. You said yourself, there's absolutely no reason for a griffin to follow Mark here. He's _done_ something. Maybe something dangerous. I think leaving it alone would be extremely risky."

"You can investigate further if you want to, Roland, but I see no reason not to put this one in the containment unit."

"Ok, fine, it's not logical at all – it's just a hunch," retorted Roland. "I think this griffin is innocent. Please just let me leave her in the trap at least until tomorrow night, when I've found out what's going on."

"Roland," said Garrett. "Remember Kylie and the evil plant demon? It almost killed me because she thought it was _innocent_."

"Innocent isn't a dirty word, Garrett. And she's in the trap – she can't hurt anyone."

"All right, all right, stop arguing," said Egon. "Very well, Roland. It can stay in the trap until tomorrow night."

Roland let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

x x x

Some weeks earlier it had been arranged that Roland would apartment-sit for Eduardo and Kylie while they were away. They needed someone to feed the cat and discourage burglars, and he needed some time and space to himself (though he hadn't told them that). That evening, for some reason, Roland chose not to remind his workmates that he would be at the apartment every night for the next two weeks.

"_You_ appreciate me, don't you, Pagan?" said Roland, as he set down a dish of cat food in the small kitchen.

Pagan, who had been fawning around Roland's legs ever since he came in, turned his back contemptuously and began to eat.

Roland wandered through to the living room and scanned the shelves on the large bookcase. The choice of reading material was eclectic, from Poe to Irvine Welsh to Rowling and C.S. Lewis (Conchita's ambition in life was to find a way into Narnia).

Roland wanted none of these, and made his way towards the bedrooms. He walked straight past the smaller bedroom, which Conchita and Rose shared, and went into Eduardo and Kylie's room. He knew why he had been selected above all others for the job of apartment-sitting: they trusted him not to throw wild parties, and not to snoop. He had no intention of doing either of these things, of course. If what he wanted was not immediately accessible without opening drawers and such, he would give up looking.

As Roland had hoped, Kylie kept her more eccentric reading material in her bedroom. He was faintly surprised to see that the bed had been neatly made (he had been told that he was welcome to sleep in it, or on one of the girls' bunks, whichever he preferred); he had half expected that he would have to make the bed himself. It had been unrealistic, he now realised, but even so.

He had just sat down on the foot of the bed with what professed to be a "comprehensive guide to mythical creatures of western origin", when he heard the phone ringing in the living room.

"Hello?"

"Hi Roland, it's Kylie."

"Hi," Roland said smilingly. He sat down on the sofa, anticipating a long conversation. Even if Kylie didn't want to describe the first day of her vacation in detail, there were some questions he wanted to ask her. "I already fed Pagan, if that's why you're calling."

"Roland, come on, I'm not calling to check up on you," Kylie said unconvincingly.

"Ah-ha. So how are you enjoying your vacation?"

"Well, it's nice to get away, but Eddie and I haven't really done anything yet. When we arrived Anna took the girls to the beach to keep them awake, so they'd sleep tonight, but we stayed in her apartment and just conked out."

"That was very short-sighted of you. Now _you_ won't sleep tonight."

"I know," Kylie said sheepishly. "We'll go out soon – you know, check out the night life and all that. So how are things back home? Are we missing anything?"

Roland wanted to talk to her about the griffin, but he found himself starting with Max's argument with a coffee table, which prompted Garrett's sudden departure and resulted in himself being the only Ghostbuster left on duty.

"Wow," said Kylie, clearly stunned. "That's terrible. I feel really guilty now."

"Don't _you_ feel guilty," said Roland. "You've had the time off booked since April."

"Is Max ok?"

"He's fine."

"And Garrett came back?"

"Yes, later in the morning. You know, I ended up driving backwards and forwards from some crummy apartment block three times."

"What was the call?" asked Kylie.

"Actually," said Roland, "it was a griffin."

"A _griffin_? Oh, that is so not fair! I've always wanted to see one of those!"

"Yeah, well, she _was_ beautiful."

"She? You got that close a look at it?"

"No," said Roland, "_I_ didn't, but there's this kid…"

Kylie listened as he told her about Mark. She let him talk, and when he finally stopped she said, "Egon's right: griffin hunting is a popular legend. Y'know, I've got this theory that one of my ancestors used to do it."

"Why? Because your name is griffin?"

"Sure. I mean, think about it. Surnames originate from names given to our ancestors because of what they did, what they looked like or who they were related to. Like, Miller's a pretty obvious one. My great-grandfather's name was Lockyer, because one of his ancestors made locks. Grandma Rose's maiden name was Nelson – that'll be like Neil's Son, or something. It wouldn't actually be Nell's Son – it's all men's names, like Johnson and Paulson and Robertson. You ever notice that?"

"I guess women hadn't been emancipated when it started."

"Well, yeah. And Jackson… well, that's your slave name."

"Er, yeah."

"But an ancestor of the people it came from would have been Jack's Son, presumably. Don't ask me about Venkman and Melnitz and Spengler and such – I don't know. But Griffin just means griffin. Now why would somebody get a name like that?"

"I don't know," said Roland. "Maybe there's something in that. Mark's name is Hunt – perhaps his family has been hunting griffins for generations."

"Well," said Kylie, "they definitely would have hunted _something_ at one time or another. But anyway, onto the questions you raised. Hunters didn't used to keep griffin body parts as trophies. They sold them. They were worth a _lot_ of money, because they were believed to ward off evil. Like that claw you found? That will allegedly darken at the touch of poison."

Roland blinked. "Is there a market for that stuff?"

"Absolutely, if this Mark Hunt can prove his merchandise is real. And even if he can't prove it you can sell anything on E-bay, can't you? Did he seem in any way perturbed when you trapped the griffin and took it away?"

"I don't know… maybe a little. But he seemed in a hurry to get rid of us. And he didn't look happy to see us when we first arrived."

"I really think," said Kylie, "that he planned to chop her up and sell whatever parts of her he could. Students need money, don't forget."

"He's obviously done it before," said Roland.

"Yes, but he can't do it now. There are no griffins in New York. Except this one. What was she doing there?"

"I don't know."

"Hmm, well… if he has a history with griffins, they may have had a run-in in the past. He might have killed another griffin she knew, or – I don't know – _done_ something to her. Maybe it's like a Moby Dick deal, only the animal is the one doing the hunting."

"Perhaps. I'm going to try and find out more tomorrow. We don't want to run the risk of any more griffins showing up."

Once Kylie had parted with pretty much all of her knowledge about griffins, the conversation drew to a close and they hung up. Roland ate (the cupboards and fridge had been generously stocked for him), watched a bit of television and then went to bed with the least childish and the least intimidating book he could find (which, bizarrely enough, happened to be _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ – another one of Conchita's that she couldn't quite read to herself yet). Roland elected to sleep on the lower of the bunk beds, where Rose usually slept, because he felt more comfortable surrounded by picture books and teddy bears than by weird gothic art.

x x x

Almost inevitably, Roland's head slammed straight into the top bunk when he woke and attempted to sit up. Not a promising start to the day, but still he found that he felt refreshed from the night's sleep, as well as all those hours alone. He got up, fed an impatient Pagan, replaced _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ on the shelf between _Philosopher's Stone_ and _Prisoner of Azkaban_, showered, dressed and ate.

And through all of this, he was thinking. He knew there was more to this griffin business, and he had until that evening to solve it. So what leads did he have? The claw? No good. Egon had already done everything he could with that, and it had showed up no more than one might reasonably expect from such a small, insignificant object. So what about the blanket? Roland hadn't got a very close look at the cat hairs that Egon had flashed under his nose for approximately half a second. He tried to remember how the blanket had felt in his hands. He had been holding onto it for several minutes; he ought to remember _something_. Well, he _had_ thought that the hairs seemed extraordinarily large for a domestic cat.

Roland glanced at Pagan, who had by this time settled on an armchair for his first snooze of the day. The black and white cat was neither remarkably large nor small; he was maybe eight times smaller than your average lion, give or take. At any rate, eight made for an easy calculation: Pagan was approximately sixty-four times smaller than a griffin. Roland picked up a stray white cat hair that happened to be on the sofa. Could it really be sixty-four times smaller than the hairs on the blanket?

That train of thought was getting him absolutely nowhere, and he had a headache now. Roland decided to clear his head with a couple more chapters of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ (it wasn't perfect, but he was finding it quite entertaining) before attempting to continue. Then, when he was ready, he began to think not about what the griffin had left behind, but about what she had _done_. She had torn the roof from Mark and Dan's apartment, like she was looking for something, as Egon had already suggested. For a moment Roland was tempted to try getting a look inside Mark's (probably) PKE-heavy car. But then he was suddenly struck by something so obvious that it had apparently blinded him.

The derelict house. What had the griffin been doing there? Well, trying to kill Mark, evidently. One of them, Roland realised, must have got there first and then been pursued by the other. Which of them it was hardly seemed to matter – there was obviously something of interest to both of them in that house.

x x x

When Roland's Mustang pulled up outside the old house, Mark wasn't there. This, Roland knew, was fortunate. What was not so fortunate was the fact that he hadn't bothered to stop by the firehouse on the way there and was now without any griffin-hunting equipment. A PKE meter would have come in extremely handy, and Roland briefly toyed with the idea of going to fetch one. However he quickly decided that he should get this over with before Mark turned up (if he could), and before he chickened out completely (which he knew he might).

_So_, thought Roland. _Do I start from the top and work my way down? Or vice-versa?_ Sod's Law dictated that whichever he did would be wrong, but he decided to try gaining entry before committing to anything. The front door, when he pushed it tentatively, very nearly fell off its hinges. Roland flinched, wondering how damaged the door had been before he got his hands on it, and then ventured into the house.

All of the ceiling lights were empty of bulbs, but there was plenty of natural light streaming in through the glass-less windows. There was not a single item of furniture, carpet or curtain anywhere. The naked wooden stairs looked extremely dubious, and Roland didn't much fancy his chances on them. He had made the decision to start with the basement (he was assuming there was one, from the basement hatch he had seen the day before), when he thought he heard signs of movement coming from somewhere below him anyway.

Wondering why the hell he had ever wanted to do this, Roland made for one of two doors in the room. He half hoped to find that it led to an empty kitchen, thereby delaying him a few seconds longer. But no, this was the way down to the basement all right, as he discovered when he had finally kicked his way past the fairly feeble padlock (which seemed to have been loosened already). The steps leading down looked almost as precarious as the main staircase that Roland had just encountered. But, moving as tentatively as a cat on ice, he was able to descend without mishap.

It was dark down there, but there was some light from the room above, and from a few slats in the hatch leading to the outside world. Roland, as his eyes adjusted to the barely adequate light, remembered now that the hatch had been severely padlocked. An ominous feeling washed over him, as it occurred to him that Mark might just be keeping something unpleasant down here. In the next moment, it dawned on Roland just what this something must be. And then, sure enough, it emerged from the shadows, its eyes narrowing on him as it hunched its body in a defensive posture.

"Whoa, hey – easy, little guy… girl… guy," said Roland, catching a brief glimpse of the creature's hindquarters as it turned, pacing back and forth, just as Pagan had done that morning whilst taunting his already dead and processed breakfast.

Roland was only panicking slightly; his first priority, for some reason, was to try and ascertain more or less how old this cub/chick/whatever was. He tried to imagine a lion cub eight times smaller than it, this creature being approximately the size of a fairly large Great Dane. Then he noticed its wings: stumpy, with a reasonable sized coating of off-white feathers, some mature looking but most of them downy. The feathers on its head were similarly small and fluffy, and its beak was barely the equivalent size of a human nose; part of Roland wanted to exclaim, "Awww!" But it hardly seemed appropriate, as the young griffin was obviously not happy to see him.

Suddenly the animal lunged for him, pathetic little beak open and claws spread wide. Roland, not fancying his chances against something the equivalent size of Scooby-Doo, even if it _was_ a baby, stepped quickly to one side. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt as the creature crashed headfirst into the wall. It fell, picked itself up and then let out a long, mournful screech. Roland wasn't overly familiar with the sound an eaglet made when calling for its mother, but he thought he recognised it now. He honestly felt like crying.

"Calm down, please," he said gently, holding up both hands in a pacifying gesture. "I can help you."

He hadn't expected the griffin to understand him, and of course it didn't. It crouched down again in an unpractised motion, ready to pounce. Roland moved back instinctively, making the split-second decision to head for the stairs and then go to the firehouse for a ghost trap. Another split second later, however, this proved unnecessary. Something slammed into the griffin's shoulder. It cried out, and then seemed to sway slightly.

The baby griffin was still swaying drunkenly when Mark ran down into the room shouting, "How stupid _are_ you, man? He could have killed you! Jeez, how lucky were you that I was bringing him his rats?"

Just as Mark finished speaking, or rather yelling, the griffin dropped to the floor.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed Roland, running over to it. "Is he dead?"

"No."

"What _was_ that?"

"Horse tranq. You need 'em in my line of work."

"Your line of _work_?" Roland put a hand to his forehead, trying to get his brain around this whole thing. "Where did you get horse tranquillisers?"

"Back home. My uncle owns a ranch."

"Oh. How stereotypical."

"Yeah, well, Texas has ranches. Dude, what are you _doing_ down here?"

Roland, however, was not in the mood for answering questions. Instead he turned angrily on Mark and demanded, "What the hell are you playing at? Where did you get this? Is he the baby of that griffin who was attacking you?"

Mark shrugged. "I guess he must be."

"Well in that case I don't feel sorry for you anymore," Roland said sternly. "So you kidnapped him? How did you manage it? He doesn't even look old enough to fly!"

"He's _not_ old enough to fly. Not quite. Well, he might be ready to start learning soon. The moms take them out to stretch their legs before they teach 'em to fly, though. This one wandered too far from home. I thought maybe his mother was dead. If she was, he wouldn't have survived anyway."

"How soon did she come after him?" asked Roland.

"Less than an hour later."

"So you brought him all the way here, knowing his mother was looking for him?"

"Yes," said Mark.

"Wrapped in that blanket, I suppose."

"The one you stole, you mean? Sure. It was a nerve-wracking drive, but… look, buddy, I'm not answerable to you. Why did you even come back here?"

"I'm not answerable to _you_ either," retorted Roland. "And I don't have time for this. I have to get this little guy out of here before he wakes up."

Size is relative, of course. A small griffin the size of a large Great Dane proved to be extremely difficult to lift, strong though Roland was. He managed it in the end, however, by partially wriggling underneath the unconscious animal and hoisting it onto his shoulders.

"Whoa, hey, what are you doing?" demanded Mark, his voice filled with panic.

"I'm taking him away from you," said Roland, struggling towards the staircase (and hoping it wouldn't collapse under the extra weight). "You're a monster."

"What are you going to do with him?"

"I'm going to reunite him with his mother. What were _you_ going to do with him, Mark? Wait until he was a little bit bigger and then cut bits off him and sell them to… to… to whoever buys that stuff?"

"How do you know about that?"

"I'm a Ghostbuster. It's my job to know these things."

"Hey, wait, you can't take him away from me." Mark ran to the stairs and blocked Roland's path. "It's only a dumb animal, and if it's allowed to grow up it'll be dangerous! Will you look at my arms? I've got scars like these all over!"

"Huh!" retorted Roland. "I'd be tempted to that to you myself if you started hunting me for my fingernails!"

"Dude, come on, please! He's my livelihood! How do you think I'm going to pay for the damage his mother did to my roof? I mean, God, how do you think I was able to afford to go to college here? I can't stay in goddamn Texas all my life – I just can't! That's why I've been hunting griffins all this time! To get the hell outta there! To give myself a _chance_!"

"Mark. Get out of my way."

"I don't think so."

Suddenly Mark turned, ran up the stairs and picked up what looked alarmingly like a rifle. Roland soon realised, however, that it must be his tranquilliser gun.

"Put him down," ordered Mark.

"Or what? You'll stick a horse tranquilliser in me? That'll kill me."

"Well… yeah."

"Go on then, Mark. Shoot me. Face a murder charge. You'd _definitely_ end up having to go back home then. Or alternatively you could get a job in Burger King like normal students."

x x x

_Well,_ thought Roland, as he drove to the firehouse with a sleeping baby griffin in the back of his car. _That was pretty interesting._

By the time he had reached the firehouse, Roland's shoulders were really beginning to feel the strain of carrying the baby griffin. He stopped the car, turned to look at his charge and saw that the little guy's eyes were beginning to flutter open. Roland then jumped out of the car, ran to the nearest equipment locker and pulled out a ghost trap. He didn't have access to any horse tranquillisers, and knew that the young griffin would have to spend quite some time inside the trap. So would his mother, whom Roland retrieved next, still tucked safely away in her small circular metal prison.

"Janine," said Roland, approaching the reception desk. "Remember when you felt like we took you for granted and suddenly decided to take a vacation?"

"Yes," said Janine.

"Well, I'm doing the same thing now. I'll be gone for about a week. All right?"

Janine, evidently stumped by this announcement, said nothing. Roland didn't leave straightaway; he went upstairs, because it was only good manners to let people know what was going on. First he located the emergency number that Kylie had left, and then picked up the phone and dialled, getting through to Eduardo's late father's sister Anna.

"Is Kylie there, please?" he asked. "It's Roland – I'm a friend of hers."

"Oh, I've heard of you. And yes, I'll fetch her for you," said Anna. She sounded younger than Roland had expected, but he was a bit too distracted to react in any way.

"Kylie, I'm sorry, but I'm going away for a week," said Roland. "I have to. It's an emergency. What arrangements would you like me to make for Pagan?"

"Um, well," said Kylie, sounding faintly surprised. "Our neighbour Sally at number twenty-six sometimes feeds him when we're away. She has a key – all you'd have to do is knock on her door and ask. And tell her I'll call to confirm, because she won't know who you are."

Kylie then proceeded to recite a long list of people who might be able to feed Pagan if Sally couldn't, and Roland solemnly wrote them all down. When he was finally allowed to say goodbye and hang up, he saw that Garrett had joined him sometime during the conversation.

"Roland, hey, guess what!" said Garrett, beaming all over his face.

"What?"

"We've been given a date for finalising the adoption! It's happening a week on Wednesday! Come August twenty-third, Max is gonna be mine all mine! And Jo's," he added. "Of course."

"Really?" Roland, in spite of all the distractions, was genuinely both thrilled and relieved at the news. "Why the wait?"

"I don't know. These things always have to be overcomplicated, don't they?"

"Does it mean they can still…?"

"Well, yeah, but they're obviously not planning to."

"So have you settled on a name yet?" asked Roland.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," said Garrett, still smiling. "We were squabbling about it for hours this morning, but I _think_ we've decided on Maxwell Nicholas Miller."

"Why Nicholas?" asked Roland.

"So his initials would be M.N.M," Garrett said sheepishly.

Roland cocked an eyebrow. "Was that Jo's idea?"

"No, actually, it was a compromise. I wanted to call him something sensible, and she wanted to call him Maximillian Milton Miller. Best not to _give_ your kids reasons to hate you, though, I say."

"I'm really happy for you, man," said Roland. "And I'm kinda glad it's not happening until a week on Wednesday. I'll be back in time for the celebration."

Garrett blinked. "Back? Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes. I'm driving to Texas."

"You're driving to _where_?" boggled Garrett.

"Texas."

"When?"

"Now."

"_What_?"

"I have to, Garrett. It's an emergency. There's a child who needs me."

x x x

Roland knew that this was the best way. The baby griffin, even if he could fly a little, certainly couldn't make it all the way to the Rockies. And besides, if he left them to their own devices, it could be argued that Roland would be responsible if either or both of the griffins _did_ decide to eat any innocent people on the way. He had spent a few minutes looking at a map, following his announcement, just to make sure that the Guadalupe Mountains really _were_ the part of the Rockies closest to New York. And sure enough, Texas was where the eastern most point of the mountain range seemed to be. He had set out with a full tank of petrol and his credit card (he would soon be facing a nasty bill on that), estimating three days' drive there and a further three days to get back.

And now, three days later, here he was, maybe a mile or two from the nearest mountain, in a deserted stretch of land, with two griffin-filled ghost traps, wondering, _Is this really my responsibility? _Then something inside him pointed out, _That never bothered you before. Is Pagan your responsibility? Are the twins and soon-to-be-Maxwell Nicholas Miller your responsibility? You may not have been dealing with any of them directly, but you did someone else's share of work because of them, and you didn't have to._

Other people's children, Roland realised, were _not_ his responsibility. Maybe when he got back to New York he would lay a few ground rules about how far he was prepared to put himself out for them with little or no warning. Still, he reasoned, he was a nice guy; he had done it before, and he would do it again. Starting right now.

Roland quickly pressed the release button on both traps, and then darted like a spooked rabbit behind his car. He hardly dared watch as the two griffins shook out their feathers, looked around them like a couple of drunks waking up on a Sunday morning, and then finally caught sight of each other. Their shrieks of joy brought tears to Roland's eyes as they fell upon each other and frolicked on the ground for a few moments. Then the mother suddenly seemed to realise where she was (i.e. somewhere a little too flat for her liking), grabbed the scruff of her son's neck in her powerful beak and took off towards the mountains.

When the griffins were just a speck on the horizon, Roland got into his car and sat with the door open (it was far too hot) for several minutes. They were beautiful creatures, he reflected. He had cared about the fate of the adult female before he even knew she had a child. Would he have cared nearly as much, he wondered, if Mark had been hunting and killing rats or scorpions (unlikely as it seemed)? He hoped he wasn't that shallow, and yet he couldn't see himself going to all that trouble for an animal much less magnificent than those griffins.

It was late, and the sun was beginning to fall behind the mountains. It really was breathtaking. Roland was just sorry he couldn't stay longer. But of course he had to go back, and planned to start his journey home the following morning. He began to drive, wondering where the hell he was going to stay that night, but his thoughts quickly turned back to Mark. By rights that boy should be punished for what he had done, or so Roland thought. If it was any other rare and/or exotic animal, he _would_ have been punished. But what animal authority dealt with cruelty to griffins?

Roland stopped the car, deciding to take a few minutes to enjoy the truly awe-inspiring sunset. After all, he wouldn't get this chance again for… well, he might come back one day, but it was unlikely to be any time soon. And then, to his astonishment, he caught sight of a distant silhouette cut into the sunset. It was like an imperfect shadow puppet: not quite a cat and not quite a bird, soaring through the pink-streaked sky. Roland caught his breath as there followed another silhouette, smaller, a great deal less steady on its undersized wings, bucking and wobbling in front of the setting sun.

_Now that,_ Roland thought smugly to himself, leaning back to enjoy the view, _is what I call interesting._

THE END


End file.
